


A Brief Interlude by Flannery O’Connor

by FB Wickersham (perpetfic)



Series: Hale County Township [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Homage, Original Character(s), literary fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/FB%20Wickersham
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. A moment in Hale County Township in the style of Flannery O'Connor.





	A Brief Interlude by Flannery O’Connor

Swiney Largood walked out of the gas station when he heard the ping-ping of someone driving over the signal line. The car in front of the pumps was one of those large, family types that always reminded Swiney of a box of crackers. In the car, he could see three children, a mass of toys and games that signaled a long road trip, and the adult clutter of coffee cups in the passenger seat. 

A woman stepped out of the large car. She wore pink capris and a yellow T-shirt with a flower pattern. Her hair was up in a bun of convenience, and she jerked in surprise when she saw Swiney on the other side of the hood.

“We’re a full-service station, Ma’am. You can get back in your car or let the little ones out to stretch.”

She stared at him another few seconds, then closed the car door and said, “All right.” There was no accent in her inflection. She did not run the words together or give one more weight than the other.

Swiney glanced at the license plate as he walked around the back of the car to the gas pump. Kansas. “Regular okay?”

“Yes,” the woman said. She opened the back door of the car and spoke to the children. “Get out and run around a little.”

The children came out of the car almost all at once. There were two girls and a boy. The youngest was maybe five, the oldest maybe ten. They ignored Swiney and ran to the side of the gas station where there was a single swing and a set of monkey bars.

“Are they allowed over there?”

“Sure,” Swiney said. “Granny figured people’s kids might like to have a place to play, and it gives you a chance to relax.”

“Granny,” the woman murmured into the open car door. She shook her head, closed the back door, and turned to face Swiney. “You take cards?”

“Sure do. You have to ring up inside, though.” Swiney gave the old, battered gas pump an affectionate pat. “We decided dedicated DSL for the credit card machine was better than those new pumps.”

The woman “hurmmmed” under her breath and walked into the gas station. Swiney reached for the windshield sponge to start scrubbing dust and grime off the windows.

The woman came back outside, tucking a credit card into the pocket of her capris. She had a cold drink in one hand and three bottled waters in a bag.

Swiney finished wiping the excess water from the windshield as the gas pump clicked.. “Granny get you settled?” he asked.

“Yes,” the woman said. She opened the front passenger door and began to gather the empty coffee cups.

“Mom!” one of the the children yelled, “Mackensie won’t push me on the swing!”

“Mackensie, play nice with your sister!” the woman called in return without looking at them. She had a slump in her posture that reminded Swiney of his sister-in-law when she’d spent days on the road with the kids to come visit the whole Largood brood.

Swiney watched as the oldest girl stomped behind the swing and gave her sister an extra-hard push to the back. The boy was hanging from a rung of the monkey bars, swinging his legs back and forth but not going anywhere. “Good kids,” Swiney said to be polite. He put the gas nozzle back on the bump and walked around to wash the back window.

“They are,” the woman agreed, and there was a spark of pride in her voice. She heaved a great big sigh. “But we’ve been driving since yesterday.”

“Sure.” Swiney didn’t know what else to say but hoped he sounded understanding. 

The woman dumped the coffee cups into the trashcan by the door of the gas station and came back to the car. She looked at the toys and games and cracker crumbs, shook her head, and turned away. “Mackensie, Amberleigh, Connor, you go use the bathroom. We need to go.”

“But-” came from all three of them, nearly in sync.

“Now,” the woman said, and the three children clustered together and walked into the gas station.

“How much farther you got?” Swiney asked. He placed the windshield sponge back in its bucket and pulled the air gauge out of his pocket to check the tires.

“Hours,” the woman said. She walked over to the driver’s side, giving Swiney a confused look as he checked the back tire pressure. She opened the door. She pulled out a cellphone bigger than her hand and pressed the screen a few times. “I’ve lost signal. Do you have wi-fi?”

“No, just the cable connection.” Swiney looked up at the sky. It was clear, blue, and sunny. “Lots of people lose signal driving through. I think it’s because of all the hills. You should get it back about half a mile down the road.”

The woman tapped her phone with emphasis. “Where even are we?” she asked as she looked down the street. There was a thrift store and a church to her left; a bank, a restaurant, and another church to her right.

“Hale County Township,” Swiney said as he walked around the car to check the other tires. “You must have come into town over Bitter Pill Creek. The welcome sign down there blew away during storm season last year.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman said as she stared at her phone, willing it to work. “And how do I get out of here?”

The children came out of the gas station in the same cluster they’d gone in. Mackensie opened the back door of the car, and the two smaller ones climbed in before she climbed in herself.

“Go on down to the end of the road,” Swiney pointed left. “Take a right. You’ll go up a big hill, then down, and there’s a T-junction. Left there will match you up with the highway in about two miles.”

“End of the road, right, left at the T-junction,” the woman said.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She repeated it to herself twice more as she got in the car. Swiney pocketed his gauge and watched her put on her seatbelt. “I can check the fluids before you go. Make sure you’re all topped off.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “My husband made sure it was fine before we left.”

“All right, then,” Swiney replied.

The woman drove the car to the entrance of the station’s lot and turned right.

“Oh, hell,” Swiney muttered. He walked into the gas station and leaned on the counter.

“You pointed left,” Granny said, not looking up from her book.

“I did," Swiney replied. “But, no worry, she’ll just make the circle on the main road and pull back in here.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Granny said. She closed her book and looked at Swiney. “Michael Bethany called. Mavis’s mower is completely out of gas, and Michael’s only half done with the lawn.”

“I’ll go run her over a full jug,” Swiney said. 

“I’ll get that lady headed in the right direction,” Granny replied.

Swiney went to the pump and filled a five-gallon gas can. He placed it in the bed of his truck and got in the driver’s seat. He started the truck and clicked on his iPod as he pulled out of the lot. Up ahead a few blocks, coming the other direction, was the large car with the woman and her children. Swiney waved as they passed one another. She did not notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to HugeAlienPie for the beta. I always swear I'm going to get faster at writing these, but it never quite happens.


End file.
